


Only Human

by bladeofsolsthiem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, More friendship than hardcore Sterek, Negative Self Talk, Self Harm, although I wrote it intending that they'd get together eventually, but that is not what this is about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7892668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeofsolsthiem/pseuds/bladeofsolsthiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles tries to shut up the negative voices in his head. Derek shows him a better way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Human

**Author's Note:**

> So this is totally self indulgent. I wrote this because I was feeling what Stiles is in this fic, and I needed to get it out and try and heal. I've been sitting on this for over a year, and reading it over now brought tears to my eyes because I am healing, and I can tell how far I've come just from reading this fic. To anyone who reads this and identifies with it, even a little, I send you an enormous hug <3 You'll get through this.

The blade of the pocket knife is sharp against his skin, but not cutting into it. Stiles presses down, careful not to pull. He doesn’t want to cut himself. Cutting says, “I’m done. I’m doing this. Harming myself is a thing that I do.” He doesn’t let himself do that. Not yet. Maybe someday. He presses, though, as hard as he can, feeling the sharp edge dig in, feeling it bruise. As the pain registers in his brain, the refrain of “worthless useless failure worthless pathetic failure useless pathetic worthless failure…” fades out as the pain takes its place. Involuntarily, a sigh leaves him. I’ll be fine as long as no one startles me. He thinks. It takes actual friction to cut through the skin, so Stiles can press the knife as hard as he likes without having to worry about actually cutting himself. “Failure failure failure worthless pathetic failure you’re so pathetic” Stiles lifts the knife and replaces it a few centimeters away from the first line, pressing down as hard as he can stand. The first mark is purple, but otherwise just an indent, like he’d fallen asleep on it with fabric folded aga. He repeats this process over and over, until his skin feels sensitive and raw, but has no blood staining it. He breathes deep, staring at his arm. He runs his fingers over the edges left by the indents in his skin, and it hurts a little more. Good. He tries to focus on that instead of the way his brain is helpfully bringing to mind every time he’s fucked up in his life, from his mistakes today to shit that happened years ago. Stuff he thought he’d been over for ages. His breaths start to quicken, and he feels tears prick at his eyes. He frantically grabs for the knife again, only for someone to catch his wrist.

“Stiles.” Derek says when Stiles whips around to look at him. They look at each other for a long moment, both completely silent, Derek’s hand still on his wrist. 

Stiles swallows visibly. “Heeeey, Derek.” He tries to muster some bravado, pulling his wrist away and pointedly ignoring the knife he’d been reaching for. Maybe if he doesn’t draw attention to it, Derek won’t see it. Or will at least pretend he hasn’t seen it already, since that is obviously the case. “Just barging into teenager’s rooms again, huh? Same old same old?”

Derek casually picks up the knife before getting out of Stiles’ space, walking over to the window. “There’s some kind of creature digging up bodies in the graveyard. Isaac said he’s been filling in at least two graves every night for the last week trying to cover this thing’s tracks, and he’d much appreciate it if we could figure out what it is and kill it. I tried tracking it last night, but its trail goes cold when it hits the edge of the preserve. I was wondering if you could look into it.” 

Stiles’ gaze is locked on Derek’s hand that is gripping his knife, watching where it swings oh too casually by his side. Derek snaps his fingers in front of Stiles’ face. “Stiles.”

His gaze jumps to Derek’s eyes. “Why bother?” He mumbles, uncharacteristically quiet. “I won’t be able to find anything.”

Derek sighs and sits down on the bed next to him, finally acknowledging the knife he’s holding enough to close it. He slips it into his pocket, and takes hold of Stiles’ arm--the one with the marks. They’re fading now, barely visible red lines. Stiles itches to remake them. Derek runs his thumb over them and then lifts Stiles’ arm to his face. Making eye contact, he presses a gentle kiss to the red marks. 

Stiles’ heart nearly stops.

Then, Derek drops his arm and runs his fingertips through Stiles’ hair, scratching his scalp and running his hand down to cup Stiles neck and pull his head into his chest. As a reflex, Stiles’ hands come around Derek’s waist. He can’t figure out what is happening right now. Why is Derek being so… nice? Comforting? This isn’t how he imagined Derek would react to this situation at all. Not that he’d imagined it. Much.

“You matter.” Derek says, breaking the silence. “You help us so much, and this pack wouldn’t be what it is without you. Scott would be dead without you. You have so many people who care about you and love you, and that are so so proud of you.” The tears that had been threatening Stiles earlier came back with gusto, but they don’t have the same taste to them. Before, they tasted like hopelessness and pain, where now they taste like… healing. Derek keeps talking, telling Stiles all the things he’d done that had helped--helped Scott, helped the pack, helped Derek. He talks about Stiles’ dad, and how Stiles is keeping the Sheriff together. He talks for a long time, and eventually when his words stop, Stiles’ tears stop not long after. Derek doesn’t seem in any hurry to move, though, so Stiles stays where he is, curled in his arms. When he finally pulls back, he can see Derek’s shirt has a wet spot from his tears. Before he can apologize, Derek says, “I know it’ll probably get bad again. I…” he hesitates. “I don’t want to compare my pain to yours, because they’re obviously different. I just want you to know you can call me. Or Scott, I’m sure Scott would be better at this than I would, I just know sometimes it can be hard to ask and I wanted you to know you--”

Stiles cuts him off. “Thank you.” He swallows again, then offers Derek a half grin. “That really helped a lot.”

Derek nods at him, and there is a brief silence. 

“So,” Stiles breaks it awkwardly, running his hands down his thighs, “You were saying something about a monster that steals bodies?”

Derek picks up where he’d left off, and Stiles determinedly jumps into research mode.  
He can do this.


End file.
